Childish Adult
Have you ever found yourself on the verge of making some major adult decision, such as...
Should I buy the generic Nutella, or can I really afford the name brand? Do I really need to take out the trash this week?...and while standing there, you think, “Janet, wouldn't it be great if I were seven years old again and didn't have to worry about any of this adult crap?”
I think that - literally - all the time.
Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I do enjoy being an adult. I like the independence of paying my own bills and the ability to have a glass of wine with dinner. I enjoy having conversations with my parents and relatives as equals, and I like having a basic life plan. But sometimes I just want to say screw it and, instead of inquiring about so-and-so’s new house or so and so's new baby, put on a pair of fairy wings and take off running into the yard.
Seriously, how awesome was being seven? When I was a kid, my best friend was a girl named Patricia, whose mother Sharon was pretty artsy (she also loved scary movies - this scarred me). She would kick us out of the house some days because she needed some "quiet time". When this happened, we were banished outside for what seemed like hours. But as kids? No problem! Outside was where we learned to use our imaginations to create vast landscapes to accompany our playtime games of school or house or personified cats who climb trees and hiss at passers-by. When it rained, we covered our skin with mud and played day spa. (“Oh dah-ling, I am just so relaxed. Aren’t you?” This may also be where I began learning to fake accents.) We pushed each other on the swings, higher and higher...trying to reach the sky. When the sun started to set, we chased lightning bugs, calling them the source of all magical power. When the streetlights came on, it was time for me to go home.
Sometimes I miss being 7.
Should I buy the generic Nutella, or can I really afford the name brand? Do I really need to take out the trash this week?...and while standing there, you think, “Janet, wouldn't it be great if I were seven years old again and didn't have to worry about any of this adult crap?”
I think that - literally - all the time.
Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I do enjoy being an adult. I like the independence of paying my own bills and the ability to have a glass of wine with dinner. I enjoy having conversations with my parents and relatives as equals, and I like having a basic life plan. But sometimes I just want to say screw it and, instead of inquiring about so-and-so’s new house or so and so's new baby, put on a pair of fairy wings and take off running into the yard.
Seriously, how awesome was being seven? When I was a kid, my best friend was a girl named Patricia, whose mother Sharon was pretty artsy (she also loved scary movies - this scarred me). She would kick us out of the house some days because she needed some "quiet time". When this happened, we were banished outside for what seemed like hours. But as kids? No problem! Outside was where we learned to use our imaginations to create vast landscapes to accompany our playtime games of school or house or personified cats who climb trees and hiss at passers-by. When it rained, we covered our skin with mud and played day spa. (“Oh dah-ling, I am just so relaxed. Aren’t you?” This may also be where I began learning to fake accents.) We pushed each other on the swings, higher and higher...trying to reach the sky. When the sun started to set, we chased lightning bugs, calling them the source of all magical power. When the streetlights came on, it was time for me to go home.
Sometimes I miss being 7.
I love this post. You sound like the kind of kid I want to hang out with.
ReplyDeleteWe would have been BFFs as kids (and adults, come to think of it)...what a wonderful way to grow up!!!
ReplyDeleteYes, I want to be 7. I look around this place and there is so much stuff I have to do. Why can't I just stay in my pjays all day eating whatever comes to mind and watch the Olympics all day long? I just want to curl up under this warm comfy blanket surrounded by stuffed animals and books. But no, I must clean and check emails, fold laundry and walk the dog. Then I will have to think about Valentine's day. Remember when that was fun? *sigh*
ReplyDelete